


We Meet Again

by valiantlybold



Series: wolf in lark's clothing [8]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, Angst and Feels, Established Relationship, Family Angst, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Kept Boys, M/M, Mob Boss Jaskier, Polyamory, Polyarmorous relationship, Supernatural Elements, Vampires, Werewolves, avoiding mob wars, kept boy eskel, kept boy geralt, kept boy lambert, negotiating peace, standard mob stuff, the usual stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23758912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valiantlybold/pseuds/valiantlybold
Summary: Geralt has more connections to this secret side of the world than he knows.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Series: wolf in lark's clothing [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640455
Comments: 12
Kudos: 272





	1. Chapter 1

Eskel has a chart.

Jaskier acquired a whiteboard for this, and Eskel has covered it in lines and names in a shape similar to a family tree.

Geralt sits at the dining room table, ready to take notes.

“Alright, let’s get started,” the vampire says, then points to the name at the top of the chart. “Calanthe. Vampire queen. The Lioness. Round about nine hundred years old. Ragged old cow in my opinion, but it is what it is. Rumor has it she was a part of the reason this city was founded but no one can confirm or deny this.”

Geralt nods along and scribbles on his notepad.

“Has a temper. A bad one. One of the few people who can keep her level is her adviser and concubine,” Eskel continues, as he points to the name next to Calanthe’s, connected to her by a dotted line. “Eist. If she’s the lion, he’s the mouse. If she’s in a rage, he’ll pluck the thorn from her paw and settle her again. Madly in love with her, no one’s quite sure if she feels the same for him or not.”

He points, then, to the name that branches diagonally downwards from Calanthe, but not together with Eist’s.

“The second person who can quell her temper is her daughter Pavetta. Two hundred-something years old. Her father was Calanthe’s old lover, who died not long after Pavetta was born. Another rumor says Calanthe was the one who killed him, but who knows? I’ve met her, she’s sweet, rather meek person. Has a daughter of her own,” Eskel carries on. “Kid’s name is Ciri, she’s a sweet kid too, born just a couple years ago. No one knows who the father is. Calanthe keeps pressing Pavetta for the name but Pavetta refuses to spill.”

Honestly, Geralt had no idea vampires could have children of their own. That they could get _pregnant!_ They’re supposed to be _undead,_ right? Literally walking corpses frozen in time, or something such as that?

But that they could get _pregnant?_ Wow. Huh. How about that?

Eskel continues on, moving down the chart, though remarks that these people are less important, Geralt doesn’t really need to memorize all of them, he should be fine as long as he remembers those main four.

Still, he goes on the explain the basic structure of a coven and other such details.

Geralt listens intently. Honestly, since finding out about all this stuff, he’s been _dying_ to learn more and to understand them. This was only feeding his curiosity, really.

From Eskel’s explanation, Geralt reasons that a coven functions similarly to a royal court; there is the monarch, Calanthe, who rules the entirety of the land, and below the monarch are noble lords and ladies who manage smaller sections of the land and act on the monarchs orders, handling the day-to-day of things to save their liege the trouble of dealing with less substantial matters.

Interesting.

Once Eskel is finished, he wipes down the board, clearing it for Lambert, who raptly takes his place. Geralt flips to a new page in his notes and stands at the ready.

“Okay, so a werewolf pack is structured a little differently from a coven, so let’s start there, I suppose,” the wolf begins, uncapping a marker and starts doodling on the board. “A coven has a king or queen as a central figure and leader, and below them are their sires, basically their children, who they turned into vampires, who then have their sires, who have their sires. Simple.”

His drawing is a loose imitation of Eskel’s detailed family tree. He moves on to a new doodle rather swiftly.

_“But_ packs work different. While a coven is built around the king or queen, a pack is built on something more like a democracy. Sort of. Werewolves clash over territory, they fight, the winner claims the territory and the leadership role. As more and more wolves flock in, they can choose to either accept the standing leader or challenge for the position. If a pack has a large number of members, a challenger has to be endorsed by at least a third of the members to be allowed to claim challenge. If they’re not endorsed, the challenge can be called invalid and be disregarded by the alpha.”

Geralt is not quite sure he follows Lambert’s drawings but at least the words seem to make sense so he focuses on that.

“Now, there are basically _three_ ranks in a pack. Well, there are more, but these are the basic ones. There’s the alpha, who’s the leader. There are the betas, who act as second-in-command, advisers, representatives, shit like that. And then there’s the omegas, which is basically everyone else. With me so far?”

Geralt hums as he lists the ranks in his notes. “I think so.”

“Good. Okay, so the pack is pretty big, there are a lot of omegas. Just regular everyday folk. The betas, however, are who you need to pay attention to. There’s Letho, Leo, Berengar, and Keira. They’re all basically advisers and council for the alpha, but Letho is technically the head-beta. He’s being primed to take over after the current alpha steps down, which they commonly do once they get up there in the years. Kinda like retirement! Usually, they step down to beta status and advice the new alpha.”

“Hm, makes sense,” Geralt mumbles to himself.

He writes down the names of the betas, and makes sure to add an extra note beside Letho.

“Now, for the old dog himself,” Lambert say with a scoff. “Old as hell and just as grumpy, he’s been leading the pack for close to forty years. Took over from his father when he was twenty-something. There’ve been challengers but he’s shut ‘em down fast and hard. I’ve heard him say he would’ve liked to pass the pack on to his kid, but he never found the time to, y’know, _have any._ I think he sorta looks at the whole pack as his children, though, so… _y’know.”_

So the alpha is in his sixties? Interesting. How does being a werewolf affect a person, concerning _ageing?_ Do werewolves have longer lifespans? Do they age slower? If they have longer lifespans, how do they hide that from the government? And furthermore, how do _vampires_ handle that? Hm, questions, he’ll have to ask Eskel about it later.

“So who is he?” Geralt asks Lambert instead. “The alpha.”

Lambert hums. “Name’s Vesemir. Funnily enough, his surname is Wolf.”

Wh-…

Wait.

What.

Geralt freezes.

He looks up at Lambert. “Say again? His name?”

Lambert cocks his head, almost like a confused puppy. “Vesemir?” he repeats.

Geralt sets his pen down.

“Is he about six feet tall? Gray hair, shoulder-long? Mustache? Green eyes, almost yellow? Wears a wolf’s-head medallion?”

Lambert looks much more confused. Eskel and Jaskier, who sit quietly alongside Geralt at the table, look confounded as well.

“Yeah,” Jaskier says. “That’s him. How-… Do you _know_ him?”

Geralt clears his throat. “I… I guess you can say that. If this is the same Vesemir, then he is…my father.”

*

They have moved to the living room.

At some point, Geralt got wrapped in a blanket and given a cup of hot tea; Jaskier sits on his left, petting his back, and Lambert’s on his right, a steadying hand on Geralt’s thigh. Eskel sits next to Jaskier, looking as concerned as ever.

“He left when I was just a few months old,” Geralt starts. “Mom said he didn’t give a reason, no warning, didn’t say anything. He just...walked away. It was fine. We managed on our own. Eskel’s family, our neighbors, they were really helpful. I’ve only met him a few times. That I can remember, anyway. He visited. Brought...gifts. Guess he thought he could buy the forgiveness of a ten-year-old with cool toys. Last time I saw him was... I was fifteen, I think. We...had a fight. He stopped visiting after that. Not that I really noticed. Only came round once a year, or so. When my mom died... I _actually_ thought he’d be there. Figured maybe that’d be enough to bring him back. But he wasn’t there. And...I guess I wasn’t really _that_ surprised. Anyway, Eskel’s parents let me stay with them, and then... _Life goes on,_ I guess.”

He sips his tea.

The others are quiet.

And yet, he can tell they are upset.

Eskel stares at the floor. His hands are clenched tight enough to make his knuckles whiten.

Lambert’s hand on Geralt’s thigh has the distinct prick of claws instead of blunt nails.

Jaskier’s has stilled. His hand lays unmoving on Geralt’s back and his face could’ve been carved out of marble for how hard his eyes look.

Geralt sips again on his tea.

“Alpha or not,” Lambert bites, jaw clenching. _“I’ll kill him.”_

In a flash, Eskel’s eyes go red; he hisses like a cat, fangs bared. _“Not if I get to him first.”_

“Boys,” Jaskier says.

His voice is sharp as a knife.

It makes Eskel hide his fangs again, the red in his eyes bleeding away, and makes Lambert’s growling silence.

“I’m sure if we all pitch in, we can each have a turn to make the bastard miserable.”

_“No.”_

As if remembering that Geralt is there, they all turn to him again, the anger leaving their eyes to be replaced with gentle love.

“He doesn’t need to die,” Geralt says lowly, staring into his murky tea. “Might punch him in the jaw when I see him, but...I don’t want him dead. Not just for me. For _everyone._ If he dies, it’ll destabilize the situation between the pack and the coven. I don’t want innocent people caught in the crossfire.”

Jaskier lets out a soft sigh, but moves his hand to run his fingers softly through Geralt’s hair.

“I know you’re right. He probably doesn’t deserve to die for being a shitty father. I think we’d see a lot of fathers dead if that were the case, sadly,” he says ruefully. “And like you said, we can’t have a war starting. Over this, _or_ anything else. But if you wanna punch him in the jaw, you’ve got our full support so go right ahead.”

Eskel and Lambert hum and nod in agreement. It makes a smile tug at Geralt’s lips.

“You don’t have to come to the meeting. If you’d rather not see him, I mean,” the doppler adds then. “If you’d rather handle the matter more privately, I’m sure I can arrange something.”

The human shakes his head. “No. I’ll come with. He doesn’t get to stand in the way of me living my life. Plus, that’ll be a good time to get that punch in.”

He smiles, when they laugh.


	2. Chapter 2

Eskel arrives first.

With him, comes the vampire queen Calanthe and her aide Eist.

She sits by the table, while Eist stands beside her.

Eskel waits by the third seat.

Lambert comes second, and with him comes the werewolf alpha Vesemir and his second-in-command Letho.

Vesemir takes the second seat and Letho stands beside him.

Lambert joins Eskel by the third seat.

Lastly, Jaskier arrives, with Geralt in tow.

Jaskier takes the third seat and Geralt joins the boys.

The silence is pressing.

The weight of influence owned by the people present... Geralt can hardly fucking breathe.

His eyes drift to Vesemir, of course. The werewolf doesn’t seem to notice him at all. It puts a bitter taste in Geralt’s mouth. All this time, and the bastard doesn’t even have the decency to recognize him?

 _“Dandilion,”_ Calanthe says, calm but menacing, like a still ocean just before a storm hits. “I see you brought us a snack.”

Geralt knows she means him. His eyes snap downward; he doesn’t want to be caught staring.

Her voice makes his skin itch.

But Jaskier is not bothered.

He inspects his freshly manicured nails. “Touch him and I’ll destroy you.”

Calanthe smirks; now she knows she hit a nerve, found a weakness, a chink in his armor.

“Not even a taste test?” she needles. “Swear I’ll be gentle.”

“Did you hear what happened to Marx?” Jaskier says conversationally.

Confusion clouds the queen’s eyes for only a moment before her mask of confidence returns. “They found his head on a spike near the police station.”

Jaskier hums, still studying his nails. “Well. I _did_ warn him not to talk about my boys.”

 _That,_ as expected, appears to be enough to put Calanthe in her place.

Geralt is _incredibly_ turned on.

It doesn’t help that, as always, Jaskier looks fucking delectable. Dressed in an impeccable suit, made of a pale pink fabric with a pattern of light blue flowers on it. His Converse are pristine white, and his light purple button-up matches the pale purple of his socks (which have little white kittens on them). He’s beautiful. Geralt wants to fuck him on this stupid round table.

The gray-haired werewolf lets out an exasperated sigh. “Can we get to business? Because if we’re only here to be at each other’s throats, then I have better things to spend my time on.”

Geralt almost laughs.

The vampire fixes Vesemir with a sharp look, her tongue running along her teeth to find the point of a canine. “Just making polite conversation, you old dog,” she tells him. “But you must admit. Having a _human_ here _is_ a little unsettling. Is it not?”

Vesemir does not appear to mind her attitude; frankly, he appears mostly tired of her very existence. “I have no quarrel with humans in general, and as for this particular human… If Dandilion saw fit to bring him along, then I trust it’s for a good reason.”

Geralt wants to fucking _scream._

A painted nail taps the lacquered tabletop.

The werewolf and the vampire bite their tongues, casting their eyes downwards.

 _Fuck,_ the power Jaskier so easily wields is going to drive Geralt insane because _it’s just so fucking hot, though?_

“We are here for one reason, and one reason only,” the doppler says.

He lounges in his chair in the same way that he lounges in every chair; like it’s a throne and like he is watching over the world which is his kingdom. His long, slender legs are artfully crossed. He leans his elbow on the armrest, his head resting in his hand.

He continues to tap at the table with one nail.

His eyes move like a pendulum, from Calanthe to Vesemir, to Calanthe, to Vesemir, back and forth slowly and methodically.

“We are here, because _apparently_ neither of you is capable of keeping your people in line.”

Geralt swears he could cut the atmosphere with a knife.

“Aggression upon aggression _upon aggression,_ and I am _tired_ of it. Vesemir. Do you have anything to say?”

The old man takes a deep breath. He doesn’t speak immediately. He takes a moment to formulate his thoughts into carefully selected words.

“Werewolves are territorial creatures, we all know this. It is no defence, I admit, and I don’t intend to shift blame by saying, but with the aggression from Calanthe’s people, _my_ people feel an instinctual drive to push back. I tell them time and time again to not act rashly, to stop and think, and not rise to meet provocation. But...not all in my pack are strong enough to fight this particular instinct.”

Jaskier hums. He taps his nail.

He turns his eye to the vampire queen.

“Calanthe. Your word on it?”

She licks her lips. She glares daggers at the werewolf, but slowly shifts her attention to the doppler.

“The only thing our noble kind has in common with those fleabags is the fact that we too are territorial beings. _But_ I have it on good authority that it is apparently a popular _game_ for young wolves to _sneak_ their dirty little paws onto _my_ land. A test of courage, if you will. Game or not, we will defend our land from intruders. I do not want a war, _but_ if war comes, _I will fight.”_

With that information, Jaskier looks to Vesemir again.

The man’s eyebrows are deeply furrowed. The upset is clear. “Letho.”’

“Alpha,” the man says, taking a small step closer as if to step into the conversation.

“Did you know of this _game?”_

“No, never heard of it. I know the pups run wild in the streets sometimes, but nothing like this. I’d think they were all smarter than that. Smarter than _tempting fate,_ as it were.”

Vesemir nods. Letho steps back again.

“Dandilion, Calanthe,” the alpha says calmly, brow still furrowed. “I assure you, I had no knowledge of this. If this is true, then the blame for the tension between us rests on my pack and you have my deepest apologies. I assure you, I will _certainly_ discipline all pups who may have been involved in this _game.”_

That appears to, at least _somewhat,_ satisfy the queen.

Jaskier hums. “Good. Until Vesemir can get the young under control, I expect you to hold your people back, Calanthe. No kids should have to die over a stupid game. Understood?”

The woman huffs. “Fine. But not even I can hold them down forever. Many are quick to rage. If they are provoked, there is no telling what they may do.”

 _“Which_ brings us to a more _long-term_ solution to this problem,” Jaskier adds.

He snaps his fingers.

Geralt pulls out the map that he kept tucked in one of his pockets. He spreads it out across the table. The queen and the alpha both lean in to look.

“What is this?” Vesemir questions. “Our territories are marked wrong.”

“Not wrong,” Jaskier corrects. “Just… _altered._ If you both pull your borders back from the others, expanding southwards instead, the siren sanctuary can fit neatly between you. Should there be aggression in the future, the sirens will rein you all back in. Move your borders according to this map, and hopefully, it will stave off a very unpleasant war.”

Eist steps to his queen, leaning in and whispering to her. She listens to his advice. Letho does the same, offering his opinion to the alpha.

Jaskier inspects his nails again. “Eskel, I must say, you did a _lovely_ job. You’re only getting better. Soon enough, and I won’t even need my bi-weekly manicure appointment anymore!”

Eskel smiles. “Thank you, love. Glad you like it.”

They wait.

Calanthe and Vesemir speak to their confidants in hushed voices.

Jaskier sees no reason they should disagree with the idea.

Nothing will change for the worse, as far as Jaskier can see. Quite the opposite, actually. So far, he has only seen positives with this.

The coven and the pack will be afforded some distance from one another; with the sanctuary in between, those young and 'brave' wolves will have no more game to play, which will give the coven nothing to retaliate for, which in turn wont give rise to unnecessary aggression from the pack. Yes, many on both sides will be forced to relocate from their homes and their businesses, _but_ Jaskier hopes that this will stir no ire with them. He hopes everyone will see that this is for the greater good, as much as Jaskier hates the term.

Jaskier has plans, though. If the plan comes to pass, he hopes to speak to both the pack and the coven, eye to eye, and lay it out for them for what it is; _it is to protect both sides, and maintain the veil of secrecy they are all protected by._

Letho steps back first; Vesemir’s contemplation and discussion has reached its end.

Another handful of moments pass, then Eist steps back from Calanthe’s side as well.

“So,” Jaskier says. “Calanthe. What do you say?”

She takes a deep breath. “As long as the size of our territory remains the same, I agree to this plan. We need all the land that we have. Our numbers are many. If our territory was to shrink, there wouldn’t be room for us all.”

Jaskier hums. “Of course. But I assure you, the size of your lands will not change. Neither yours, nor the pack’s.”

“Then I see no reason to disagree,” the vampire queen admits. “Of course, it will be unsettling for my people, but we will persevere.”

The doppler nods. “And Vesemir? Your word?”

“I must agree with Calanthe,” the old man says. “I did worry that we would lose territory, but if you assure that we won’t, then I will trust you. So far, you have lead us well and have earned my faith. I agree to this plan.”

Jaskier smiles. _“Beautiful!”_ he says. “Then, let us discuss the details!”

Geralt doesn’t listen.

He tries to watch Vesemir, tries to give him the benefit of the doubt; maybe he does recognize Geralt, maybe he just doesn’t want to show a weakness to his enemy, maybe he’ll look at Geralt with recognition in his eyes.

But he doesn’t.

Not once do his eyes turn to Geralt. They stay firmly on either Calanthe or Jaskier, as if none of the rest of them even exist.

It burns, and Geralt hates that it does.

He thought he was over this. He thought he had put all of that behind him. He hasn’t forgiven, nor forgotten, but he thought he had at least gotten past the pain of it.

This, seeing _him,_ made the pain flare up again. Made the pain burn like a fresh wound all over again.

Geralt bites his tongue. He remains silent. Now is not the time to speak. Not yet.

It comes to the point soon enough, where the negotiations wrap up, where Jaskier promises to have a contract drawn up for all parties to sign, where they each rise from their seats and begin to leave.

Calanthe and Eist disappear in a flicker, leaving the rest of them behind.

Good. No need for them to see this.

Vesemir and Letho are moving towards the door.

Jaskier looks at Geralt expectantly. Eskel and Lambert do the same.

No time like the present.

_“Hey! Vesemir!”_

The werewolves stop and turn at the call for the alpha.

Geralt walks with swift steps. At his side, his fists clench tightly. His nails dig into his palms.

 _Fuck,_ he has to admit it’s satisfying as hell to feel the crack of the old man’s face under his knuckles.

Vesemir staggers back, blood already dripping from his nose, while Letho growls. In a blink, his face has shifted and he moves between the human and the alpha. Though, Eskel is there in no time at all, catching Letho by the wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

 _“What’s the meaning of this?!”_ Letho bites, his voice dark and distorted by the shift. _“You let your pet human attack the alpha?!”_

Jaskier hums. He saunters to them. “No. I let him attack _his father.”_

Letho’s golden eyes go wide. Behind him, Vesemir stares as well, nose pouring blood.

“Geralt,” the old man says. “You’re-… I-”

Geralt swallows. “After everything, you didn’t even _recognize_ me.”

The old man stares at him, blood dripping down his chin, staining his whitened facial hair.

Geralt turns on a heel and walks away. He doesn’t need this. He has nothing to say to him. He did what he came here to do, and now it’s over.

“Darling, wait,” Jaskier says, stepping into Geralt’s path, stopping him. “Slow down. We’ll go home together now, yeah? Curl up on the couch?”

Geralt shakes his head. He side-steps around Jaskier and keeps walking. He needs a minute to himself.

The door slams behind him as he leaves.

*

He hasn’t been to the cemetery in a while.

Still, his feet know the way.

Once passes the front gates, he walks on auto-pilot until he reaches the far corner where his mother is hidden away.

Her headstone is relatively plain. A small slab of granite, a simple carving of her name and dates, with no extra flair or room to spare. They didn’t have much when she was alive, so what she left behind wasn’t much either. It took a lot of it just to cover the burial costs, getting her a plot in a nice cemetery and all. That headstone took out the last of it, _and_ he had to borrow some from Eskel’s family.

Geralt always feels guilty when he comes here. When he looks at that headstone. It feels like he should’ve been able to give her more. Something better. Something prettier. She deserved something prettier. She liked roses and gold, and those fancy swirly letters. If he could, he would have given her those things on her headstone. Maybe write her name is swirly letters, and decorate with carved roses, and make it all in gold, with some shiny black rock as a base. Yeah, she would have liked that.

He sits down in the grass.

“Hey, ma.”

He cant look at her name. He can’t bring himself to do it. It’s like he isn’t brave enough to meet her eyes, even though he knows she’s gone.

“I saw dad today,” he tells her, still. “Same old bastard he always was. He didn’t even recognize me. It’s been almost fifteen years but... The least he could do is _recognize me_ when I’m standing right in front of him.”

Absently, he tugs at the grass.

“I thought he was...I don’t know, somewhere halfway across the globe. But no, he was right here. Right here in this very same city. For fifteen years. And he never looked for me. Told people I didn’t exist. Pretended you and me never happened.”

The wind rustles the trees. Geralt runs his fingers through his hair, moving it out of his face.

“I punched him. He deserved it. He deserved a lot worse than that, but... Too many innocent people could get hurt if he dies. Maybe once he lets his... _whatever he is,_ take over, then I’ll kill him. We’ll see.”

He flexes his right hand. His knuckles are a little scraped but most of the blood isn’t his. He will have to ice it once he gets home.

_“Geralt.”_

He doesn’t move, nor does he answer. Vesemir has some nerve showing up _here._

He hears the old man sigh.

Then, Vesemir is sitting himself down in the grass, right next to Geralt.

“How’d you find me?”

Vesemir shrugs. “Your scent hasn’t changed much. I could track you across the world if I had to.”

“And yet we shared the same city for fifteen years and you still didn’t find me.”

“Hm. Guess I should’ve seen that one coming.”

“Probably.”

For a little while, neither of them says anything.

They just sit there. Quiet.

The noise of traffic is distant. It’s almost covered completely by the rustling trees.

“Did you ever wonder why you have white hair? Yellow eyes?” the old wolf questions, then. “That isn’t normal, I’m sure you know.”

Geralt shrugs. “Look at you. I figured it was your fault.”

Vesemir scoffs. He smiles and shakes his head, almost _fondly._

“You’re not wrong. You had dark hair when you were little. Brown eyes,” he says. “Lycanthrophy... It’s hereditary. Doesn’t present itself until puberty. I suppose all the wolf you got was the hair and eyes. I kept waiting for there to be... _more.”_

Right, so it was somehow _Geralt’s fault_ that he didn’t get the right genes.

“But then you realized I was a failure and a disappointment,” he states plainly, and hates how it stings in his heart. “-so you left and never looked back.”

Vesemir lets out a soft sigh. “If you think I left because you weren’t a werewolf, you’re right. That’s exactly why I left. But it was never a disappointment. _It was a relief.”_

Geralt’s head snaps up, eyes fixing on the old bastard. What was he saying?

Vesemir meets him with a gentle look. Something soft in his yellow eyes.

“Because if you _were_ a wolf, I would have had to guide you. Teach you to control your powers. How to control the monster within. Let you into our secret little world. But you are human. It was best to keep you out of that world. It was safer that way. _You_ were safe that way.”

Geralt’s heart stings again.

He was-... This- It wasn’t-

What is he saying?

The old man reaches out. His hand lands on Geralt’s shoulder, like Geralt remembers it doing when he was a kid

“My world... It’s not safe for humans. For you. I... I was trying to protect you. Keep the pack from finding you. God knows what they might have done if they knew about you and your mother. That’s why I visited so rarely. To keep suspicion from growing. I came and checked in on you. Made sure you and Visenna were getting by alright. To see if any _traits_ were developing in you. But when she died... You had already passed the presenting stage of puberty. You were human. Not a werewolf. So...I thought it best you stay with your own kind.”

Vesemir had been protecting him?

“I thought of you every day, from the moment Visenna told me she was pregnant. It ached to be away from you, but...I knew it was the only way to keep you safe. Every day, I thought of going out, tracking you down, finding you. But I wanted more for you to live, than for me to know you. The price of your safety was me never truly being your father.”

This is...

It’s a lot.

Geralt stares at him.

He can’t believe this.

Well, no, yes, he can believe it; he’s heard from Lambert how volatile and territorial werewolves can be. If they knew their alpha had a human child, who knows what they might do to _restore honor,_ or whatever crap their animal brains can think up. Them knowing that Vesemir had even just _been_ with a human woman might have been enough to set them off, never-mind actually producing a child.

But for all the sense it makes, it still...

It still hurts.

Geralt still hurts.

It just hurts.

“For all that’s happened, for all I’ve done... You have the right to be angry. To hate me,” Vesemir adds. “But... Now that you found your way into this world despite my best attempts to keep you out, you may as well have all the facts. Never think I didn’t love your mother, or that I don’t love you, because that is simply not true. All I did, I did out of love. Angry as you may be, I hope you can at least understand that.”

He pats Geralt’s shoulder, then withdraws his hand.

Geralt looks away. He swallows tightly. He blinks back the bitter tears that well up in his eyes.

He clears his throat.

“I should...go home. They’re...probably worried about me.”

Vesemir hums. “I don’t understand what you have with those boys, but I can tell, plain as day, that they all care for you very much. I’m glad you’re happy with them.”

Geralt gets to his feet, brushing himself off. “I-... Thanks. Are you...staying here?”

The old man smiles. “Yes.. To be honest, I’ve never had the guts to come visit her. I’d like to sit with her for a while.”

Geralt walks away.

He only makes it a few steps, though, before he feels himself compelled to stop. He turns back for a moment.

“Maybe...I’ll call you sometime. We can...catch up. Maybe.”

His father looks to him, all smiles and soft eyes. “Yes. I’d like that very much. Whenever you feel ready, I will be there.”

With that, Geralt leaves the cemetery behind and goes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u igni u are the best, u literally helped fuel this fic and i love u


End file.
